Seasonal Affected Disorder
by Madj
Summary: Killian Jones loved holidays. Like, really loved them. Captain Cobra Swan fluff ahoy!


**Warning: **This is nothing but pointless fluff. You have been warned! Written for CS Secret Santa on Tumblr.

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><p><strong>INDEPENDENCE DAY<strong>

Okay, but seriously. What even is her life?

Emma knows she should be used to unusual happenings, what with being the daughter of the world's most famous fairytale couple and being the True Love of Captain-Freaking-Hook.

But she still has to wonder if she's awake or having a really bizarre dream at the sight of her ridiculous (ridiculously handsome) husband, clad only in American flag boxers, whistling as he bustles around the kitchen at the crack of dawn.

Making pancakes.

Scratch that.

Making _Fourth of July_ pancakes with blueberries, strawberries and whipped cream in an elaborate design that she'd never be able to replicate with two hands and all the time in the world.

He smiles brightly at her as she shuffles into the kitchen and drops onto one of the stools at the counter. "Happy Independence Day, Swan," he says, shoving a plate her way. "I found this recipe on Pinterest!"

Her husband, her True Love, her fearsome pirate, thought that Pinterest was the greatest invention of all time.

Again she had to wonder, what even is her life?

Not that she was complaining. The man was an excellent cook, and every meal he made was one she didn't have to. That said …

"You know, there's going to be about 85,000 pounds of food at my parents' today," she tells him, eyeing the pancakes — which truthfully look wonderful. "I was just thinking of having some toast …"

"Pancakes! Sweet!" Henry interrupts, rushing into the kitchen. It's not until he laughs at her that she realizes she's guarding her plate with the fork she didn't even realize she'd picked up. "Okay, chill Mom; I'm sure Killian made enough for all of us."

"Indeed I did, lad," he says, handing Henry a plate. He smirks at her before continuing, "But I think your mother said something about just having toa—" He stops, and both of her boys watch in awe as she shoves an enormous bite of pancakes in her mouth.

Yeah, she has no willpower, so what?

She's far too busy stuffing her face to make conversation, so she just watches in amusement as the two of them start talking about the appropriate movie to watch to celebrate the holiday — "Independence Day" is of course the no-brainer, but she lets them debate it while she enjoys her patriotic pancakes.

The truth is, she should have expected something like this. One of the surprising things she'd learned about him in the short time they'd been married was that Killian Jones loved holidays.

Like, really loved them. All of them. If Hallmark made a card, Killian was all over it. If decorations existed, they would end up in their house. If there was special food, music or tradition associated with the day, Killian would find out (and who taught him to use the Internet anyway?) and share every detail before replicating the experience as closely as possible.

And Henry was always along for the ride.

She hadn't really thought much about it at Valentine's Day. The intimate dinner Killian had cooked was fantastic (even warmed over; when she'd found him cooking for her, the table beautifully set and candles everywhere, she'd been so touched — and turned on — that she'd had to have him right then), but it hadn't seemed that unusual for a newlywed.

But then came St. Patrick's Day, with Killian and Henry insisting that she wear green, papering the apartment with shamrocks and leprechauns and collaborating on a dinner consisting only of green food.

And Easter, when they'd convinced her to host a big family dinner, complete with a huge Easter egg hunt just for Roland. She'd flatly refused to wear the bunny ears they tried to foist on her, but she'd had a surprisingly great time at the dinner.

Memorial Day and Mother's Day also got the holiday treatment from the dynamic duo, and she suspected that her parents' planned barbecue at their new house may have been inspired by her father wanting to get in on the holiday action.

So, really. Fourth pancakes and flag boxers? Not that surprising, really.

* * *

><p>The thing is, she's been <em>having thoughts <em>lately.

Well, one thought in particular.

The holiday obsession is just one example of how great Killian is with Henry. As much as she loves her almost-14-year-old, half the time he's her sweet boy and half the time he's this moody pod person who gets on her last nerve and picks fights with her over literally anything. His mood changes fast enough to give her whiplash sometimes, and it's almost more than she can take on top of the myriad weird happenings and villain sightings they put up with on a near-daily basis.

And usually, when she's just about to lose her temper, there's Killian, smoothing things over with both of them and distracting her offspring with a new "mission" or a tale of past adventures. He shrugs off the occasional nasty "you're not my father, _Hook_," and helps her clean up the mess the few times her magic gets away from her in her temper.

To see them bonding over stupid holidays — and in this case a brilliantly plotted water gun attack on her father — warms her in ways she never expected.

And it makes her wonder, even as she's laughing at the way her father is drenched by super soakers and vowing his revenge, what it would be like to have a baby with Killian.

When she sees him a bit later, rushing to snatch up her little brother before he can get too close to the grill and settle him on his hip, all the while telling David about a recipe he'd found (Pinterest again) for the perfect burger … when she sees that, she _wants_.

They're at the park by the docks, stretched out on a blanket while Henry and Grace chase Roland around and all their family and friends settle next to them, waiting for fireworks to start.

Despite the heat, she cuddles into to him, and his arm snakes around her, lips at her temple.

It's not really in her nature to talk around things, so she finds herself just blurting it out in typical Emma Swan fashion.

"Do you want to have a baby?"

He stops breathing, and she fists her hand in his shirt and holds her breath herself. After a moment he pulls back, and she feels him looking at her, waiting for her to catch his eye.

"Truly, Swan?" The hope in his eyes brings tears to hers.

She shrugs. "I didn't know I wanted it until I did."

He kisses her hard as fireworks go off, and she has her answer.

**HALLOWEEN**

It's foolish, she knows, but she thought it would be easier.

It's only been a couple of months since they started trying to get pregnant, but after Henry, she'd had an idea that it would be almost instant. Just decide, go off the pill, and boom! Pregnant.

And not that the attempt has been a chore (heaven knows, they've had a _lot_ of fun trying), but every month that passes chokes her up a little more with what ifs. What if she can't have another baby? Isn't that just Emma Swan's luck? She is 17 and alone, and she gets pregnant without trying at the worst time possible; she's 30 and happily married and never able to create a child with her True Love.

She knows it's ridiculous, that sometimes it takes a while, that some people try for _years_, but she can't shake the feeling — even after all this time with her family, even after knowing how much Killian loves her — that there are just things that the savior can't have.

Though Killian doesn't hide his disappointment from her, he has an annoyingly cheerful attitude about it, telling her to be patient, joking (sort of) that they will simply have to "try _harder_, darling," and assuring her that it will happen when it's meant.

("I never thought I would have the family that we already have, Emma," he'd murmured in her ear the last time her period had come and she'd ended up in frustrated tears. "I'm the luckiest man alive already; I have you and Henry.")

Not for the first time, she thinks that her mother and her husband have a lot in common. And who would have ever guessed that?

It's Halloween, so naturally her boys have gone all out in decorating the house — she has to draw the line at the giant, hairy fake spider hiding in the shower this morning, so not cool — and the Pinterest recipe of the day is cookies shaped like owl heads with cashews for their beaks.

Regina and Robin are hosting a costume party at their house, and she and Killian have still not agreed on what to wear. She's rejected any number of possibilities from him, and he won't go along with her idea of rebelling against authority and not wearing costumes at all. She knows she's being difficult, but she's not really a costume kind of girl, and she's not in the mood for a party, anyway.

As if she's not feeling cranky enough, he pushes her hand away from the cookies ("They're for the party, Swan, don't be greedy") and herds her toward the living room, where a big box is making itself at home on their couch.

"What is this?" she asks suspiciously.

"Since you rejected all of my excellent suggestions for costumes," he says pompously, smirking as she rolls her eyes, as expected. "I took the liberty of choosing something for us."

"Killian, what did you do?"

He shrugs, ripping the tape with his hook and motioning for her to open it.

When she sees what's inside, she can't stop a laugh. He knows — he always knows —what will make her feel better. She might not be into costumes, but this is an opportunity she can't pass up. "Oh my God. I love you."

"I know."

* * *

><p>Her mother laughs when she sees them, bustling over to tug Emma's black wig into a better position. "You make a lovely Snow White," she says before moving on to Killian. "Disney's Prince Charming! I love the cape."<p>

David acts a little offended at first, but then he starts giving his son-in-law pointers on how to be Prince Charming and threatening to dress as Disney's Hook next year, and all is right with the world.

The party is surprisingly fun — Robin has such a positive influence on Regina, and she wonders if it's as obvious to everyone how love has changed her as well — and she's tucked into Killian's arms on the back patio, swaying to the music and watching her son flirt with Grace when she realizes he's right.

"I'm the luckiest woman in the world," she tells him, and means it. She still wants a baby with him, but if it never happens, she has so much more than she ever thought she would have, too. And she would take a page out of her mother's book — Killian's, too — and enjoy what she does have, never losing hope for the future.

"Damn right you are," he says. "What ever did you do to deserve a dashing gentleman like myself?"

She turns in his arms and tilts her face up to his. "I'm the savior," she says, putting on an arrogant tone and shrugging.

He rests his forehead on hers. "That you are, my love."

Ignoring the "ugh, _mom_" coming from behind them, she pulls her True Love into a kiss.

**THANKSGIVING**

The house is quiet when she wakes. No music, television, whistling or whispered debates rouse her from sleep. A glance at the clock — after 9 already! — has her bounding out of bed.

Wandering into the kitchen, she starts to freak out a little at the quiet. Has there been another curse? Some dreaded villain — who _haven't_ they met yet? Hades? The evil uncle from "The Lion King"? — snatching her husband and son out of the house without her knowing it? It had been quiet for weeks now, so it figures some bad guy would show up to screw up the holiday season.

Her fears are calmed by the note propped up on the kitchen counter. She'd completely forgotten that Killian was tasked with helping her mother cook Thanksgiving dinner, since David was still recovering from a nasty flu bug. Her mother has many talents, but cooking is not one of them. If anyone could handle cooking the entire dinner while allowing Mary Margaret to think she was doing most of the work, it was Killian.

_You looked so peaceful in sleep that I took Henry with me so you could get some extra rest. Love, K_

She sighs, warmth flooding her just at the thought of him. She's so lost in thought that it takes her a moment to realize not all the warmth is internal, that in fact, a towel on the kitchen counter is inexplicably on fire. After a moment of staring at it in confusion, she pushes herself into action, using her magic to kill the fire.

At least, that's her intention.

At the wave of her hand, the fire suddenly jumps, becoming twice as big and torching a roll of paper towels in its wake. Yelping, Emma turns on the water and yanks the sprayer as far out as it will go, dousing the fire before it can actually damage anything except for the kitchen towel … and her nerves.

_What the hell?_

She cleans up the mess quickly, opening the fridge to find the breakfast souffle that Killian has left for her to heat up. It's one of her favorites, with egg and four kinds of cheese … and her stomach turns the second she takes the lid off.

She shoves it back in the fridge with a groan. It's obvious what's going on. She's been with her father all week at work, and now she's getting his stupid flu just in time to ruin Thanksgiving for her.

Trudging to the shower, she wonders if being sick always affects her magic. She hasn't really been sick since her powers kicked in, so she's just going to have to hope that she doesn't torch anything in her parents' house.

* * *

><p>She doesn't, thankfully, torch anything. But she lights some candles with barely a thought, and a few wineglasses end up shattered when Killian corners her in the pantry closet for a couple of heated kisses.<p>

She doesn't say anything about it, but everybody knows it was her and — judging from how grumpy David is — probably they know why.

It's hard to really care, though. She's married, for pete's sake, if she wants to make out with her husband it's nobody else's business. Besides, she's thrilled to be feeling better. Her stomach has settled down, leaving her absolutely starving, plowing through dinner and ignoring the looks of surprise from everyone else at the table.

Of course, she regrets it later, when she feels like she weighs a thousand pounds and her jeans have never felt tighter. Offering to take care of the remaining dishes, she shoos everyone else out of the kitchen to decide (to argue, actually, sounds like) what movie to watch. Mary Margaret stays behind to dry the dishes, and they fall into a nice little routine, only interrupted by the occasional groan from Emma over how much she'd eaten.

"What's going on with you?" Regina asks, coming into the kitchen and leaning on the counter. "Are you sick? Your magic is … strange today."

"I don't know," she admits, scrubbing at a plate. "I actually set fire to a kitchen towel this morning by accident. I was feeling sick, too, so I thought I had the flu. But it's passed, so I don't really know."

"Are you pregnant?"

The plate slips from her grasp, rescued only by Mary Margaret's quick reflexes.

"I … I don't … it's possible?"

Her mother gasps, touching her shoulder. "Oh, Emma, really?"

Regina shrugs, a smile tugging at her mouth. "It's not unheard of for pregnancy hormones to mess with magic for a few weeks."

Emma swallows hard, sinking into a chair. "We've been trying for a little while." She darts a glance at her mother. "We haven't told anyone, we didn't want to say anything until …"

"Only one way to find out," Regina says, and a pregnancy test appears in a puff of purple smoke on the table right in front of Emma.

A part of her doesn't want to take it. She can already feel that her hopes have been raised, and she doesn't know if she can bear it if it comes out negative. But she needs to know …

Snatching the test up, she rushes for the downstairs bathroom.

The lights in the living room are dim, and Killian's saved her a very small spot next to him on the couch, practically on his lap, covering them with a fuzzy blanket. Unable to find a Thanksgiving movie they could agree on, they skipped right to Christmas, putting in "Elf."

Emma's mind is racing over how to tell him, ignoring the way her mom is beaming at her and Regina is laughing as she curls into Robin, Roland sprawled over both their laps. The movie begins, and she smiles at baby Buddy in the orphanage.

Suddenly, she decides to grab Killian's hand, flattening it over her stomach under the blanket and turning back to look at him.

As always, they say more with their eyes than with their words, and she can see the exact moment he understands. Nobody else notices the way he smiles, laying small kisses all over her face, his hand never leaving her abdomen, or the way the few lights that are on start to flicker as his lips meet hers.

**CHRISTMAS**

The house is so decked out for Christmas it looks like the North Pole threw up all over everything. Giant Christmas tree, stockings above the cheery fire burning in the fireplace, garland and lights everywhere and a blizzard's worth of stuffed snowmen tucked into every corner. Her darling husband has made sure to stick mistletoe (naturally, his favorite part of Christmas) in every possible location, including a cluster right over their bed (kind of overkill, honestly, but she's not really objecting).

And she loves it. Buoyed by Killian and Henry's Christmas spirit, she'd thrown herself into the holiday right along with them, weird magical incidents aside, decorating, baking, shopping for the perfect gifts, watching every cheesy Hallmark movie in existence — and loving every minute.

It's like every Christmas she never had as a child, times a thousand.

But now, curled up alone on the couch with only Christmas lights illuminating the room, she's lost every ounce of joy and goodwill.

They'd told Henry about the baby tonight, and Moody Pod Person had made a comeback, listing her (admittedly numerous) failings as a parent. Killian had stepped in right away, of course, unwilling to allow Henry to talk to her that way, and then things had gotten _really_ ugly. It was only after he accused them both of not trying hard enough to save Neal's life that he seemed to realize what he was saying. Stopping mid-sentence, he rushed out the door.

Killian had asked to be the one to go find Henry, and since she had no idea what to say to him, she'd agreed.

Which, unfortunately, leaves her alone, bundled up like a giant burrito on the couch, crying like a pathetic idiot. She desperately wants to turn off the obnoxiously cheerful Christmas music that was still playing in the background but is too exhausted all of a sudden to even get up. Trying to use magic is out of the question, of course, unless she wants to risk blowing up the stereo.

She should have expected that Henry would be upset. Hadn't she been a little hurt when she found out her parents were having another baby? And she was a grown woman, perfectly able to understand that her parents could love her and the new child equally.

Settling her hand over her stomach, she tries to calm herself. _He's going to love you as much as we do_, she thinks. _He'll be a great big brother_.

She's pushing herself into a sitting position, determined to go look for Henry herself, when the back door bangs open, and she can hear them — both of them — coming in.

Before she can untangle herself enough to stand up, she finds herself wrapped in a huge hug.

"I'm sorry, Mom," he says. "I'm … I just got scared, you know?"

Putting her arms around him, she settles back on the couch, pulling him with her. "I know, kid. I've been there, remember? But getting a little brother made my life even better," she says.

"That's what Killian said, too. It's just … it's really not fair that we missed out on all that," he mumbles into her shoulder.

"It's not," she agrees. "But you did have all that with Regina. Plus, since you're older, I'm expecting you to help out, too. I need you to be the best big brother this kid could ever have."

"Deal." She sees the smile even with his face tucked away. "I can't wait!"

"You say that now, but I'm marking you down for diaper duty," she says, poking him in the side.

He pulls back, rolling his eyes. "I think that should be Killian's job."

"Oy!" She's nearly forgotten that he's there, lingering in the kitchen so they could have a moment alone. "I heard that."

Henry smirks, then pulls a paper bag off the floor next to him. "So, um, Killian and I bought you a present. It's not wrapped or anything."

She looks to her husband, who settles on the arm of the couch next to her, then back at Henry. Cautiously, she opens the bag, pulling out a small red and green knit stocking.

"I figured, even though the baby won't be here until next Christmas, we could hang a stocking for him — or her." Her son looks a little embarrassed, shrugging.

As tears come to her eyes, the entire line of lights along the fireplace goes out with a pop.

"Mom!"

"Sorry," she says sheepishly. "Regina tells me that should be over soon, but she's been saying that for a week or two now."

"Anyway," Henry plows on, "Killian says next year we're making our own stockings. He found directions on —"

"Pinterest," she chimes in.

"Pinterest," Henry nods, ducking to avoid the pillow his stepfather aims at his head. "But this one will do for now."

"It's perfect," she says, handing it back to him. "Do you think you could find something to hang it with?"

"On it," he says cheerfully, mood swing long forgotten.

Scooting over, she makes room for Killian to squeeze in next to her. He wraps his arm around her and presses a kiss to her temple. "So, that went well, then?"

She laughs, cuddling closer. "We've handled dragons and snow monsters," she says. "What's one hormonal teenager?"

"He said he thought I wouldn't care about him when I got a 'real' child. His words, not mine," Killian tells her quietly. "I assured him as best I could that though I would never try to replace his father, I do consider him a son."

"Yeah?" A string of lights on the tree pops, and they both laugh. "Sorry!"

"Aye," he says. "I love him as though he were my own, and having another child won't change that."

"Killian," she says, then decides that actions speak louder than words, pulling him into a kiss.

"Ugh," she hears Henry, his tone of disgust sounding a little put-on to her. "I leave for five minutes …"

She pulls back, dropping a peck on Killian's lips and turning to watch Henry fasten the fourth stocking on the mantle.

He drops onto the couch on her other side, and Emma and her two True Loves just sit, enjoying the fire and the stockings and the tree with one dark strand of lights.

It's the best Christmas she's ever had.

* * *

><p><strong>Note:<strong> Merry Christmas and Happy New Year to all the Captain Swan fans on here, particularly the guest reviewers that I never get to personally thank! You guys are the best, and I wish you the greatest things in 2015. :)


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